Untitled
by Bekken
Summary: Years after Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley has written a book. She sends a copy to Harry - and he can't put it down. She's detailed all of her life from the cradle to where she is now, and Harry gets to read it. The title really is Untitled. H/G *Complete*
1. The Forest Green Book

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Untitled

By Bekken

Chapter One

The Forest Green Book

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Disclaimer: I don't own and am in no way affiliated with J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., or Scholastic publishing . All characters belong to Jo Rowling, and I am just borrowing them for a spell. Neither am I affiliated in any way with Nicholas Sparks, or A Walk to Remember_. The plot, however, is mine._

*

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Author's Notes: My first attempt at a longer-ish story, so please be merciful. I did try, you know. The idea popped into my head one morning, and what was I to do but write it? And yes, the title really is 'Untitled'. You'll see why soon.

*

Harry looked at the forest green cover of the book, itching to get his hands on it. "_Me._" it simply said in gold flourishing letters. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to get back to the report he was writing for the Ministry of Magic.

His eyes, however, kept sliding back to the book.

"At nine thirty p.m. on Monday, August 13, Don Frinske was practising illegal necromancy in his home residence," Harry dictated to himself. "Neighbours heard odd whistling, ghostly - damn."

The tip of Harry's quill had just broken, leaving a black smear over what he had already written. He scrounged around in his desk for a new quill, and dipped it in the inkwell.

"At nine thirty p.m.," Harry began again. His eyes travelled to the book once more. "Oh, hang it," he muttered. He picked up the slim, dark green volume, and opened it to the first page.

"_Me._" it said in the centre of the page in large, curly letters. Underneath it, in tiny print, were the words: "_By Virginia Weasley_"

He flipped the page.

"_Acknowledgements_

To thank all the people who have helped me write this work would be impossible."

The page read.

"_However, I am prepared to try and thank as many of you as possible. Everyone I know has been a great help to me in writing this book, and I couldn't have got through it without your wonderful support._

First thanks go to my family. To Mum and Dad, first of all, for encouraging me to write this, and planting the idea in my brain. You two never gave up on me, and I'll always thank you for it. To Bill, who put up with my owls at three in the morning, in which I wondered if I was doing the right thing. To Charlie, who came right away when I owled him in tears saying that I could not finish. To Percy, for his never ending support, and for his wonderful help by way of grammar and spelling. You were more help than you realised, Perce. To Fred, who suggested that I add a little humour to this work, and to George, who came over and cooked my meals when I was too busy writing to eat. To Ron, for helping me remember everything that had slipped my memory over my lifetime. You were the first one to read this, Ron, and your comments and support meant so much to me. To Hermione: even before you were my sister-in-law, you were my friend. I needed that friendship throughout writing this, and you were always there for me. And to my darling nephews and nieces. Henry, Willy, Andrew, Georgie, Diana, Isabel, Mary, and my newest little namesake, little Ginny: You were always there to put a smile on my face.

Of course, I have to thank my dog, Lucky, simply because he was always there. When I was ready to sob, he was there to lick my face. Thank you, Lucky.

Thanks to my editor, Justin Finch-Fletchey, for taking this broken crumpled manuscript, and turning it into a real book.

And thanks to all of you_, my readers, for bothering to pick up this book. I hope I won't disappoint you._"

Harry read over the page, a smile on his face. Who would have thought that Justin back from his days in Hogwarts would become a major editor? Or that Ron and Hermione would have got married and had another little Virginia?

He flipped to the next page. All it said in tiny letters was:

"_For Harry._"

His eyes widened. For him? No one had told him that! 'Why would she dedicate the book to _me_?' he wondered. He was not a big help in the writing of the book, and was disappointed in himself because of it. He had been working very hard, trying to get a promotion, and was not there for his friend when she needed him. In fact, once they went to lunch to discuss the book, and Harry (he winced at the memory) left in the middle to go to a business meeting.

He certainly wasn't worthy enough to have the book dedicated to him. He was still angry with himself for leaving a friend all alone like that. Ginny was one of his best friends. They didn't have a relationship _exactly_. Both were free to date other people, and Harry did, though he wasn't sure about Ginny. However, when Harry needed a date to a Ministry of Magic employee party, or Ginny needed someone to accompany her to the Aurors' Ball, they were there for each other.

He looked at the text again. There it was, in tiny bold letters: "_For Harry_". He couldn't understand it. There were so many people that deserved to have the book dedicated to them – starting with his best friend, Ron. Ron had told him just the other day that in the midst of writing the book, Ginny had shown up on their doorstep, sobbing, and said she was going to kill herself if she didn't finish soon. Ron, being a good older brother, invited her in and calmed her down.

Yes, Ron deserved it far more than she did. Or Charlie, or Bill, or Percy, or Fred, or George, or Hermione, or anyone but him.

Why had Ginny chosen _him_? He wasn't as big a part of her life as he had been at Hogwarts – work was taking up a lot of his time, especially now with working towards the promotion of Head of the Department of Prevention of Illegal Magic. 

'But I still have time to spend with Ron and Hermione,' he thought. This revelation surprised him. 'And I have time to go to Quidditch games. And I still have time to go to casinos or clubs sometimes.

'My time with Ginny was the first time to go,' he realised, shocked.

He had never been more unhappy with himself than he was when he turned to the next page.

"_Introduction_

I've always hated reading introductions, so feel free to skip this one. However, if you do actually read introductions, then by all means read it, though I probably never will."

Harry smiled.

"_I wrote this book at my parents suggestion, and I laboured for what seemed like forever on it. I tried my best, and it would be lovely if you would read it with an open mind._

Don't judge me from this. Don't think about me as a character. I'm a person.

This book is _me. It is my life; it is my memories. It is my personality. It is my loves. It is me._

This is my _story, and I promise to leave nothing out.*_"

Harry laughed, feeling a little better, and turned to the next page.

"_Chapter One_

Early Beginnings

My mother tells the story like this:

One fine Saturday afternoon, my parents were walking in the garden, when my mother complained of an odd pain in her stomach. Since I was due in only a week, my father assumed it was labour pains, and called a midwife. However, it turned out that my mother was not in labour, but simply had a stomach infection.

'I told your father over and over again that it wasn't labour,' she reminisces. 'But he was insistent.'

After that false alarm, and after my father had to pay the midwife ten Galleons for making the journey out, he resolved to be more careful and be sure _my mother was in labour before he called for help._

Two weeks later, my mother was standing in the kitchen, when her labour began. The labour was rather easy to begin with, and she actually finished cooking the stew she was making before she lay down. She called to my father, but he wouldn't believe she was going to have me.

'It's just your stomach, acting up again,' he told her.

'It's labour,' my mother insisted, but he would hear none of it. He insisted that it was just her stomach, and made her take more of the medicine the doctor had given her.

My mother started having contractions, and she realised this was not going to be the easy labour she had expected. She yelled for my father to send for the midwife, but my father was stubbornly stuck on the fact that my mother was not _in labour._

Finally, my mother gave up. She lay, wondering how she was going to have this baby herself.

Thankfully, my thirteen-year-old (at the time) brother, Bill, heard my mothers' cries and sent for the midwife himself. My father was furious with him at first – he still couldn't believe my mother was having me.

But, while he was scolding Bill for wasting the ten Galleons, the midwife came out.

Holding me.

According to Bill, my fathers 'jaw dropped wide open,' and his eyes, 'just about popped out of his head.'

'What's that?' he asked.

The midwife looked insulting. 'Why it's yer new baby, Arthur,' she said, sternly. 'And yeh shouldn't be talkin' 'bout 'er like that.'

'Her_??' Bill's eyes went wide, and he looked my baby face in the midwife's arms. 'It's not a her!' He checked under the blanket and his eyes went wide. 'It's a her.'_

My dad was still standing in a dazed shock next to the midwife.

'I have a baby,' he said aloud. 'I have a baby.'

'Well, yeh got six of 'em already, now, don'tcha?' asked the midwife.

My father rushed past her into the room. My mother always blushes at this part of the story, and Bill says he heard frantic giggling coming from inside the room. However, the midwife strode in before anything could really _happen._

'Don't show the chil' such things,' my mother remembers her scolding.

'What will we call her?' wondered my father. They had been planning to name me Thomas, but I couldn't really be called that now, could I?

'Elisabeth?' my mother asked.

At the same time, my father said, 'How about Virginia?'

My mother smiled. 'Virginia Elisabeth.'

'Well,' said my father, taking me from the midwife, and holding me, 'Virginia Elisabeth Weasley, welcome to the world.'

My mother always smiles when she tells this story, as if she really goes back in time and feels everything she felt again. I love to listen to it – it's the story of my birth, after all. 

When I was little, my older brothers and I would group in a large circle around my parents and listen to the stories of when we were born. Mine was always the funniest, and always the time when it would get the loudest. Everyone was jumping in and trying to give their personal account of the event.

I was born into a family of six older brothers. The oldest, Bill, is probably the one that felt he had the most responsibility over us, and since he was thirteen when I was born, it was like having a live-in babysitter. Bill, my mother says, was always the one who had to take care of us. And he says that he always got in trouble whenever we got into mischief, but I don't remember this.

Then there's Charlie. Charlie has two loves in his life: sports and animals. It was Charlie that took me out on nature walks, so we could find different types of Quagdoodles, and it was Charlie who first put me on a broomstick and taught me to play Quidditch. Charlie Weasley is something of a legend, if you ask anyone at Hogwarts, and I have no trouble at all believing it.

There is Percy. Percy was always the responsible, cautious one. He was probably the one that kept me out of too much mischief in my younger years, and probably, even now. Despite what some people say about him, he did turn a blind eye to children's fun that may have been "against the rules." He did know where to draw the line, and I can't thank him enough for that.

Then are my twin older brothers, Fred and George. Fred is more of a leader than George, but George is more of a thinker than Fred. Together, they make an incredible team. Fred and George are pranksters, and often added a bit of humour to an otherwise dreary lifestyle. I have them to thank for my own sense of humour. Even being the target of their jokes often helped me: it made me develop a thick skin that I would need later in life.

There is Ron. Ron is only one year older than me, and we constantly bickered as children. My mother called us her two 'torment children,' and rightly so. We tormented each other to the brink of insanity. We'd constantly fight over tiny little things. Ron would be angry because I followed him. I would be angry because he took my toy. 

Yet, Ron was always my protector as well. When Fred and George got too _vicious, Ron would step in, often risking a lot. Sometimes, he would take the blame for mischief we had got into together, or even something I'd done myself. He always pulled through when I really needed him._"

'He did,' Harry thought to himself. He recalled the last year of Hogwarts – the reason Ron hadn't left school that year, and was forced to retake it. That had been for Ginny. Ron always pulled through in the clutch, and Harry admired him for it. Too often, he himself would get nervous and pull out. Ron's real strength came when he was depended on for something important.

Harry turned the page any continued to read.

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"_My first memory is, in fact, of Ron. Perhaps it has been added to in my brain, from the various accounts of it I've heard. It wasn't a very memorable experience, but with eight other people in the family, there is bound to be someone who will remember what you do._

What I remember is I was two or three years old (Charlie says three, and Percy says two). My father was away on Ministry of Magic business, rounding up a few more of Voldemort's supporters. Being quite the Daddy's girl, I was very sad that my father wasn't there.

I was quiet all day long, and at three o'clock, willingly went to my room for my nap, without even putting up a fuss. Ron followed me into the nursery we shared, and Ron lay down on his "big boy bed," while my mother came up and put me into my crib. She waved her wand, and soft, slow music began to play.

'Go to sleep,' she said. 'Shhh…'

I lay in bed for what seemed like hours in my baby mind, but was probably only a few minutes. Then I crawled out of my crib (I had figured out how to do this long before) and got onto Ron's bed.

'What?' he asked, sleepily, feeling none of the insomnia I did.

'I can't sleep,' I whispered. 'I want Daddy.'

Without even hesitating, Ron shifted over, and gave me some room under the covers. Percy and Bill say I hugged him tightly while I was sleeping, for the whole nap.

To this day I love sleeping in the same bed as one of my brothers. I always feel safe, and protected. I'm never scared, none of the little scares, like a monster under the bed, or the big scares, that someone might crawl into my window. Whenever I have a bad dream, I'll crawl into one of my brothers' beds. Most children run to their parents with their problems, but I ran to my brothers."

An owl flew in Harry's window, disrupting his reading. It dropped a letter on his desk, then flew off. Obviously, the sender wasn't expecting a response. Sighing, he put down the book, marking his place, and picked up the letter.

"_Harry-_

I need that report, ASAP. As soon as you have it done, send it to me.

-Jeff"

Jeffrey French was the man who could (and just might) promote Harry. Sighing, he picked up the report and began to write again. He gazed longingly at the book. It would just have to wait for another time.

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*Shamelessly stolen from A Walk to Remember _by Nicholas Sparks. Please forgive me._


	2. Safe Tonight

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Untitled

By Bekken

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Chapter Two

Safe Tonight

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Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Scholastic Publishing, Warner Bros. Inc, or J.K. Rowling. All Harry Potter trademarks belong to J.K. Rowling, and I own none of the characters. In short, nothing is mine, except the plot.

*

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Author's Notes: Well, at least you kept reading. That's something, right? This chapter has to be dedicated to my cousin, Dan, who will never read this anyway, but who unknowingly gave me some great inspiration, to James Bow (who doesn't even know this chapter is dedicated to him), and whose fic, "Letters in the Summer After the Fall of Voldemort" pulled me out of depression and made me write again, and, of course, to Amy, who's been a wonderful beyond wonderful beta, and is making me wonder why I haven't dedicated anything to her yet.

*

Harry quickly finished brushing his teeth and came back to his bed. Getting warm under the covers, he picked up the book he had been dying to finish reading all day long, and hadn't got the chance. _Me _by Ginny Weasley.

Actually, when Ginny announced she was writing a book, Harry was a little surprised. She had never seemed to him like 'the writing type.' He hadn't ever seen her going around filling up notebooks with interesting things, and he had _never _seen her with a quill behind her ear.

Ginny seemed far more suited to what she did already – she was an Auror, and one of the most successful female Aurors, at that. She had started out in the profession quite low – no better than a secretary, really. 

'And look at her now!' he thought to himself. One of the top Aurors in her rank, she was invaluable to the whole wizarding community.

It seemed – and everyone Harry knew agreed – that there could not be a better position for Ginny. She was good at what she did _and she liked it_. To be in that position was the experience of a lifetime.

Harry had never thought of her as someone who wrote things down. In fact, once, Ginny had confided in Harry that no one should ever write anything down that they would be ashamed or embarrassed to have _anyone _read.

'Sound advice,' Harry thought. He had never been much of a journalist himself, though he knew that Ron had a whole stack of diaries ('JOURNALS!').

Ron, however, would never think of writing a book. In fact, only Hermione, being his wife, had been allowed to see a few of the ever-so-secret entries on occasion.

'It's mostly just Ron rambling,' she'd confided in him. 'There's no point at all, just him writing what comes into his head.'

As far as he knew, Ginny had never even kept a diary, apart from the horrible experience with Tom Riddle.

So what had driven Ginny to write this?

He knew that her parents had suggested she write down her memoirs, but he couldn't recall if they had actually suggested getting a _book _published. Curious, he made a mental note to owl Ron, and see exactly how Ginny had got the idea into her head.

Quite honestly, it didn't seem like a very Ginny-ish thing to do.

He knew it had been pure hell for her to write the book – an ordeal he was sure she would not like to repeat. So what had kept her going? What had driven her to _finish _the book when she so easily could have put it down and left it?

She had made herself vulnerable to her readers, and that was certainly not something Ginny would normally do. Ginny never liked anyone to see her when she was anything but strong.

Harry mulled over this as he picked up the evergreen book, and flipped to where he had placed a bookmark earlier.

"_My brothers often got annoyed with me. In fact, I was quite the little devil as a child, and perhaps, even now. _

I had a problem with anyone telling me what to do. I believed I could think for myself, and that was that. My mother says it is because I've always had so many people dictating what I should do that I simply went crazy to assert my independence.

My brothers usually had the hardest time with me. Of course, my parents did take an active role in raising me, but I was usually with one of my brothers when I was young. Either they were told to watch me, they did it of their own accord (which didn't happen very often), or I just simply tagged along and wouldn't leave.

I loved to follow my brothers. Anywhere and everywhere they went, I wanted to go. I wanted to cut my hair short, to look more like them (though, when Bill began to grow out his hair, my arguments were cut short). I wanted to play sports. I wanted to be just like my brothers. They were my idols.

Growing up, I had a horrible fear of one of my brothers getting hurt. I don't know where it stemmed from – Mum says Bill had a friend who was killed that I knew, and I was afraid they were going to leave me like Bill's friend. I don't recall this, but I suppose Mother knows best.

There was a period when I hated to leave the house, for I feared they wouldn't be there when I returned. In the middle of the night, I'd get up, wearing my little white cotton nightie, and tiptoe around to each of my brothers' rooms to make sure they were still safe in their beds.

I don't recall having any such fear about my parents. My father says, however, that I did come into their bed in the middle of the night a few times, claiming I had dreams that they were dead.

I don't know if these are normal fears for a young child, but I was terrified. I would want to know where all my brothers were at all times. The first time I can remember seeing Charlie and Bill off to Hogwarts, I was terrified.

'Will you come back?' I remember asking, feeling more scared than I ever had felt.

'Always,' Bill promised as he boarded the Hogwarts Express with his friends. And he's kept that promise. To this day, he's always come home."

Harry smiled as he pictured a young Ginny, with short hair and big brown eyes. He imagined her padding from room to room, checking on her brothers, and gave a faint half smile as he imagined her curling up in her parents bed.

'She must have been an adorable child,' he thought to himself. He had seen few pictures of Ginny as a child, but somehow, he had no trouble imagining her as one. Chocolate eyes that were just a tad too big for her face, and a complexion that freckled, not tanned. Red hair that, as she grew older, darkened to a deep shade of auburn that fell to her shoulders. Eyes that lit up when she was excited, and a button nose. A petite frame that gave off the impression that she was fragile, but a bundle of energy inside that reversed that opinion.

He wondered what her child would be like one day – probably a lot like her.

'What am I doing?' Harry caught himself. 'Why in the world am I thinking about Ginny's future children?'

Harry shook his head, and continued to read.

"_There were certain things I loved to do with each of my brothers. For Ron, of course, it was playing. I spent much of my childhood with Ron, playing in our imaginary castles, or playing 'Hogwarts.' For some reason, Ron always got to be the professor, and I was always the student, having to scrawl away on a spare piece of parchment for hours while Ron ate candy that he said was 'strictly for professors.'_

Ron and I had a secret place – a place I'm hesitant to reveal, even now. We went there every day to be out of the way, lest Mum decide there was work to be done. Oh, how we passed the times away there! We'd do everything – discuss, plan, play. We developed elaborate imagined houses, and wondered what it would be like to have a million Galleons. We climbed trees, and ran around, and had the energy only children can possess. We were there from dawn 'til dusk nearly every day, and it's a wonder no one ever found us.

Sometimes, I could get Ron to play 'my' games, like House and Tea Party. He did so rarely, and usually grumbled, but I expect he had as much fun at those as I did playing Pirate Ship."

Harry stifled a laugh at the thought of Ron playing Tea Party, and wondered what Ginny had used to blackmail Ron into letting her use that choice tidbit in the book.

"_But Ron wasn't the only one I played with. George and Fred were active playmates as well. Their favourite games to play were quite characteristic of them – tickle wars. _

Even though I was often the target of Gred and Forge's jokes, I never hesitated to help them pull a joke on Percy, or Charlie, or Bill. At Ron, I put my foot down, and had a little conscience.

My brother Percy was always the one who read to me at night. He'd read me stories, and I'd be captivated, gone, in different lands, where princesses lived in high castles with towers and turrets, and princely knights sought to rescue them from evil, fire breathing dragons. He transported me to lands where fairies with names like Tinkerbell tiptoed through forests sprinkling fairy dust on everyone.

Most children hated bedtime. I loved it. Bedtime was a time when Percy got to read to me, and I could be anywhere, doing anything and everything.

I remember one day, Percy pulled a book from my shelf that I hadn't noticed there before. I looked curiously at it, trying to figure out what all of the funny symbols dotting the cover meant. I would later learn that these symbols, which had confused me all of my short life, were letters, coming together to form hundreds of millions of words.

'The Boy Who Lived,' Percy read aloud from the book, and my gaze travelled to the cover art. There was a picture of a baby on the cover, with jet black hair, and a lighting bolt shaped scar down the middle of his forehead.

Percy went on to read me the story that all of us have come to know so well, the story of Harry Potter. I was fascinated – this Harry Potter, he was still alive! He was only a bit older than me!

I might get to meet him, I realised. I was filled with joy. Meeting a hero – a real hero! Why, my life might be different forever after that!

And it was, but that's another story, for another time.

I did things with Bill and Charlie as well – those two were always together, and I was often placed under their care. Both of them babied me ridiculously – and I can't say that I hated it as a child."

Harry knew she never hated her brothers' protection of her. Resented it at times, sure. But _hated _it? No, he was always sure that even when she was annoyed, or felt overprotected, she didn't hate it.

He knew if he was in her place, he would feel nothing but happiness to be safe, and loved.

He and Ginny had once had a long talk. They had been trapped together in the woods during their fight against Voldemort, and were stuck in a small Muggle child's tree house all night.

Ginny had hugged her knees and talked. Talked as if she had been longing to say these things her entire life, and had never had the chance. She talked about everything – her family, her friends, Hogwarts, Voldemort.

'All I've ever wanted,' she'd confided in him, 'is to be safe for just one night.'

That night, during all the rumbles underneath that sounding like Death Eaters, Harry had seen Ginny cry from fear and exhaustion. Overcome by a feeling of brotherly love, he had gone over to her, and enveloped her in a hug.

'I promise you,' he whispered to her, as he held her gently. 'You'll be safe tonight.'

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat, and blinked in rapid succession as he turned the page.

"_Under their watchful eyes, I'd splash happily in the streams, rarely heeding their warnings not to go out too far. I'd usually end up holding onto a rock for dear life, watching the current sweep by me, while Bill or Charlie stood at the shore, screaming for me to get back _now_._

I was never a strong swimmer when I was young, but I did love the water. Not ocean water – no, I loathed that. Salty liquid that stung my eyes and tasted horrible and left little grains all over me. But fresh water, why that was another story.

I could never get enough of playing in pools and jumping in streams as a child. I loved to splash and duck my head under. I was a terrible swimmer, and I still am, so my love for water is really quite dangerous. Every chance I got, I'd be out in the creek behind our house."

Harry had never known about this. Ginny had never seemed to go swimming when he was there in the summer, and had never brought it up. 

He wondered why she never mentioned it. Never having been a swimmer himself, he didn't understand why she wouldn't. 'Was it something personal?' he asked himself.

'Perhaps,' he thought, and wondered if he might ask Ginny about it later. He planned to owl her the next day, anyway.

"_There was a strong current in that creek, and Bill ordered me never to go out past one large rock. Feeling very independent one day, I decided I was a 'big girl' and could do whatever I wanted, thank you very much._

I dog paddled out to the rock, and grabbed onto it, turning around to see if Bill was watching me. He was maybe seventeen at the time. He wasn't. His head was buried in the newest Quality Quidditch Supplies _magazine._

Nervously, I looked out at the quick water sweeping by me. Could I do it?

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I let go of the rock, and dog paddled out a little further.

I struggled to keep forward against the strong current pushing me back. Water splashed up into my eyes and mouth and nose, and I coughed, violently. My head bobbed in and out of the water as I battled to keep afloat.

I tried to scream for Bill's help, but each time I opened my mouth, it was filled with cold creek water. I flailed my arms frantically as I moved further and further downstream."

'Go to sleep,' his mirror wheezed. 'You have work tomorrow.'

Harry took a quick look at the clock, which was now pointing to 'Far Too Late To Be Up.' 

'Five more minutes,' he promised the mirror, who gave a sigh as if in great suffering. 'Alright, alright,' he complained, putting his bookmark back in, and shutting off the lights.

That night, he dreamt, for the first time in a while, about Ginny.


	3. My Future Husband

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Untitled

By Bekken

Chapter Three

'My Future Husband'

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Disclaimer: I am not, do not own, and am not affiliated with J.K. Rowling, and all characters referred to from the Harry Potter book series belong to her. Nor do I have any connection to Warner Bros., Scholastic Publishing, Christopher Little Publishing, and various other publishing houses that have copyrighted Harry Potter and characters. In short - it's not mine.

*

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Author's Note: This chapter was a piece of hell to write. The story simply would not go the way I wanted it to. Adding to that, it was started more than a month ago, but any desire to finish it was buried under school related obligations. Sometimes, I wonder why I'm an author…

This chapter is dedicated to Berklee, who is my friend, and who I might be able to get to read this by baiting her with the fact that a chapter is dedicated to her. Also, of course, to Amy, whose beta-ing (is that a word?) and general friendliness has been invaluable.

*

Harry stretched as light filtered into his room. He blinked, the sun's rays hitting his eyes. Groping for his glasses, he looked at his clock.

'Two hours until I have to leave.' He made a mental note to himself, hoping he would be out of the house on time, though promptness didn't seem to be one of his virtues.

His eyes fell on the dark green book again, and suddenly he remembered where he had left off. With the excitement of a young child on Christmas Day, he eagerly picked up the slim volume, and thumbed for his place.

"_I gagged as I swallowed more and more water rapidly and felt myself drifting downstream. I tried again to scream for Bill, but couldn't open my mouth long enough to shout without swallowing more water._

I gasped for air as my head went underwater again, almost choking on the gallon of water I swallowed.

I didn't know what I was going to do. I couldn't scream for Bill. I couldn't swim. The river was carrying me downwards. I knew I was going to drown."

Harry felt himself get caught up in the story, wondering nervously if she would survive.

'Of course she'll survive, you idiot!' his mind yelled. 'She wrote the book, didn't she?'

"_'God?' I prayed. 'If there is a God? Don't let me die in here. Please? I'll say all my prayers, and be a good girl, really, God. Just keep me alive.'_

You know how some people say that before you die, your whole life flashes in front of you?

Well, if my almost-drowning is to be considered a near-death experience, then those people lied.

As I floated downstream, I didn't see my past. Instead, I saw something else. I saw my future.

I am not saying that I am a Seer, because I can assure you that I am not. I nearly failed Divination at Hogwarts, and the professor told me I was 'insensitive to vibes and auras, my dear'. I have no quarrel with this, in fact, I completely agree.

But I am still convinced on that day, I saw my future. Or, a possibility in my future, I suppose. Now, I do not have proof that I was correct, for what I saw hasn't happened. But I am still young, and there is still time in my life for _it to happen._

What I saw was myself, but not my young, four-year-old self. I saw the woman I was to become. I saw myself as a mother, holding a baby, and looking into the eyes of my future husband –

Harry Potter."

Harry gasped. What? That was impossible! There was no way he and Ginny could…could…

He had never thought of her like…like _that_. Ginny was practically his sister.

He turned red at the very thought.

'She _published _this?' he thought to himself. He groaned as he thought of all the people who would read it.

'Oh, god.'

"_I can't explain how I knew it was him, but I knew for sure._

The next thing I remember is seeing Bill swimming with strong strokes up next to me, and grabbing my arm. He pulled me back to shore, and I lay on the sand, gasping for breath, while he yelled at me.

And so began my real _fascination with the Boy Who Lived. I had been intrigued, and curious when Percy had read me the book, but now I was sure._

Harry Potter was the one I was going to marry."

'Good lord,' Harry thought, knowing his face was tomato-red.He turned the page.

"_Chapter Two_

From Nursery School to Hogwarts

When I was five, Mum thought it necessary that I attend the local Muggle school, to learn the basics – as she put it, reading, writing, and 'rithmetic. 

On the first day of school, I was given strict instructions from Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, and _Percy: "Pretend to be Muggle."_

Fred and George had quite a different idea.

"What you could do," nine-year-old Fred told me, "is take a Dungbomb – they have no idea what they are – and throw it at some annoying git who won't leave you alone."

"Last week, we were going to bring our toy broomsticks to school," his twin confided in me. "But Mum caught us and took them away," he added, mournfully.

I pity the Muggle children in my older twin brothers' class. Fred and George weren't playing tricks on them to be mean, and certainly not because they were Muggles. They treated the family, and family friends, the same way.

Joking is just a part of Fred and George's nature, and for that I am glad.

It's a wonder, however, that none of the Muggle children ever realised they were wizards.

All of us were ostracised in school – simply because we weren't quite sure how to behave like Muggles. There was a local wizarding nursery school, but the fees were quite high, so Mum and Dad couldn't afford to send all of us there.

Percy had got in by scholarship, but with the limit of one per family, none of the rest of us stood a chance. Not that we would have, anyway; we were far too wild for the prim and proper, snobby little school.

My first day of nursery school was a mess. Without realising what I was doing, I accidentally set fire to Erica Grant's hair. Wondering what had happened, I was sent to the 'Time Out Chair'.

I had never experienced such a punishment. In fact, I was hardly ever punished as a child – after all, there were six other children to be blamed for what went wrong. I was also the baby, and no one is ever inclined to blame the baby.

When I was punished, it wasn't anything like this 'Time Out' business. I'd get a sharp smack to my rear, and that would send me racing to do what I was told. Never had I been told to sit in a big 'grown-up' green chair for a prescribed amount of time.

It seemed like I sat in that chair forever that day, though in reality, it was probably only ten or fifteen minutes. I got up once, to get a book to read, but my cross teacher told me to sit my little rear end back in that seat, young lady. Confused, I did what I was told.

Was I not allowed to read during this punishment? What was I to do? Just sit there?

It didn't seem like a very productive way to spend time, that was for sure.

Sighing, I looked at the floor, and began to count the tiles."

Harry smiled, in spite of himself. He'd been determined to feel angry with Ginny for printing…what she had about him…but he couldn't help but grin at his mental picture.

He could imagine exactly what it was like – an irritated Muggle woman in a crisp dress, her finger pointing at the Time Out Chair, and a confused looking little girl, with red swinging braids.

He laughed.

"_When I got home, I found the teacher had called Mum about it. She wasn't angry, to my surprise. She said such things often happened to young magical children, and I must be very careful in the future not to let them._

Relieved at escaping punishment, I agreed, nodding my small head quickly.

Ron was in the class ahead of me.

'I'm in grade one,' he informed me, later that day. 'We do much more interesting things. We actually learn _stuff, not like that baby nursery school.'_

'We learn things!' I cried, defending the nursery school, in spite of my mixed feelings about it.

'We were reading books_ today,' said Ron importantly. 'And I can't talk to you anymore. I have _homework _to do.'_

Ron flounced off importantly, and I found myself wishing that I too had 'homework' to do.

It was probably the only time in my life that I have seen my brother Ron eager to do his homework – flaunting _the fact that he had homework._"

Harry laughed aloud. Ron? Excited about homework?

Wait until Hermione read this.

"_My time at nursery school came and went, as did my time in grades one and two. I was a quick learner, and the things that the school taught were not hard to understand._

I never really connected with the children there. I just felt, in a way, that I was different. And Muggle children wanted nothing to do with my family. I overheard one girl say to another that 'the Weasley family makes strange things happen'.

I didn't mind my social life, or lack thereof, at school, because at home I had an endless supply of playmates, especially during the summer months while Bill and Charlie were at home.

By the time I reached grade three, Bill and Charlie had already left Hogwarts, and Percy had just finished his first year. For me, when Bill and Charlie left school, it had barely any impact at all – they were still gone most of the year, and came back during the summer.

But suddenly, Percy _was gone. I no longer had someone to read to me at night. By now, of course, I could read for myself, but I treasured those nightly reading sessions with Percy._

Percy spent the summer before I reached grade three holed up in his room, working on his homework to a perfection. He was quite studious, and I have never seen Mum so proud.

'Not even Bill was that conscientious,' she remarked to me, one day.

However, I was able to get some time to talk with him. When I asked him what Hogwarts was like, he said it was the, 'most brilliant place on Earth.'

When I asked him to elaborate, he said, 'I can't really explain it. You'll just have to wait and see.'

And wait I did. I couldn't wait to follow my brothers to Hogwarts, and time seemed an endless, never-ceasing continuum. A year later, I saw Fred and George off to Hogwarts, the place I longed to be.

'We're going to have loads _of fun,' George told me one day. 'We'll be the biggest troublemakers Hogwarts has ever seen!'_

Of course, they hadn't counted on the Marauders, nor on Peeves the poltergeist.

After Fred and George left, Ron and I grew closer. We did everything together. The house seemed quite empty with only the two of us around, and we made as much noise as possible to fill the silence.

But, two years later, the time I had been dreading finally came.

It was Ron's turn to go to Hogwarts.

'Don't worry, Gin,' he consoled me. 'I'll owl you every day – every single day, you hear me? – and I'll be back at Christmas. And next year, you'll come to Hogwarts, and things will be like they always were.'

But I couldn't stop the pain and anxiety growing in my heart. My best friend was leaving – just going away and leaving me. What if he made a lot of friends and forgot all about me?

I accompanied my brothers to the train station, as I had every year since before I could remember.

We were standing outside the barrier, and Ron and Fred were having an argument about something or another. Mum chided them, and started sending us through the barrier. Ron looked a bit pale. Percy looked quite purposeful, and Fred and George looked mischievous, as usual. Mum sent them all through, until only Ron and I were left.

A black haired boy, with large glasses and big green eyes came up to us. 

'Excuse me,' he said, nervously. My heart gave a sudden leap, and I looked at him in surprise.

My mother was perfectly calm. 'Hello, dear. First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too.'

Ron acknowledged the black haired boy.

'Yes,' he said. 'The thing is – the thing is, I don't know how to—'

And in that moment I knew. This _was Harry Potter._"

Harry blushed down to the roots of his hair. Did she _have _to write this for everyone in the bloody world to read?

"_We got Ron and Harry on the train, and I begged Mum to let me get a closer look, but she refused._

We left the platform that day, both saddened. Mum, because her youngest son was off to school for the first time, and I, not only because my permanent playmate was gone, but also that I had missed a chance at closely examining my future husband."

'_Must _she keep referring to me like that?' Harry thought, blushing even more.

He remembered that day – the day he first went to Hogwarts. How nervous he had been! And how wonderfully his seven year experience there turned out.

'Look at the time, Harry,' said his mirror, lazily.

He looked at his watch, which read, 'Ten Seconds Away From Being Inexcusably Late'.

'Damn,' Harry thought, as he Apparated to work, taking _Me_ with him. 'Why won't anyone give me a chance to finish?'


	4. Life Isn't Fair

__

Untitled

By Bekken

Chapter Four

Life Isn't Fair

*

__

disclaimer: I am not, do not own, and am not affiliated with J.K. Rowling, and all characters referred to from the Harry Potter book series belong to her. Nor do I have any connection to Warner Bros., Scholastic Publishing, Christopher Little Publishing, and various other publishing houses that have copyrighted Harry Potter and characters.

*

author's notes: Thank you, first of all, to all my reviewers for this story. You make my day with your reviews. Thanks also go to Amy, because…well, she's Amy. I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long, but what can I say – I procrastinate.

I don't know how many of you know, but on October 7, a boy at my school committed suicide. This chapter is written in memory of him.

*

__

"_I missed Ron._

I knew I would, of course, before he left. But I never realised I would have no one to play with all day long, every day.

Mum was sympathetic. She tried to find time to play with me, to keep me occupied. But she couldn't just romp around with me all day. I had to develop my own interest.

Problem was, I found, I didn't really have any.

I waited impatiently for Ron's letters, and when they came, I was so elated that Mum often had to threaten to punish me before I came down. I read each one ten times, and carefully crafted my response back.

Before he left, Ron promised me he would write every single day. He did, at the beginning. But by the end of September, his letters were tapering off. He wrote maybe once every couple of days.

That was fine. I could deal with that. As mum explained to me, he probably had a lot of homework, and that took up a lot of his time.

But, soon the letters shortened to one a week, and then one every couple of weeks. Finally, Ron was just writing letters to mum and dad, and scribbling a little note to me at the bottom.

I was upset. Why wasn't my favourite brother writing me? Wasn't he miserable without me, like I was without him?

His letters didn't even say he missed me anymore. All they focused on was a certain Hermione Granger. I began to hate this girl, for taking my brother's affections away from me."

Come to think of it, Harry didn't _ever _remember seeing Ron write home after December. Of course, Harry didn't blame him – there was a lot going on. But how much it must have hurt poor Ginny!

"_I found solace in books. I'd go to the Muggle library every day, and make my way through every book in the place._

Once I'd finished the youth books, I went on to something that had caught my eye more than once – the romances.

Oftentimes in the library, my eyes would go wide at what I was reading. I had never heard _of the things that were being written about. My parents didn't discuss it with me, and certainly not my brothers. In fact, I would have had no idea where babies came from if I hadn't developed a talent for listening behind closed doors._"

Harry groaned. "Too much information," he muttered. He looked at the inbox on his desk, piled with papers. He really should get to work.

He turned the page.

"_I remember one such passage very well – I think I must have memorised it, the number of times I read it over:_

'His dark, midnight blue eyes looked into her brown ones. He gripped her milky white shoulders, and whispered fiercely, 'Because I love you, Caroline.' He brought her to her, and kissed her, holding her tight in his arms. Her body trembled from passion as his tongue began to explore every portion of her delicate mouth.'

I shall stop there, because otherwise this book will not be suitable for even teenagers.

I immersed myself in these romances. I found them fascinating. Why, I remember in one, a girl fell in love with her father – but she didn't know it was her father at the time. Meanwhile, her fiancé was trying to get them married quicker, and-

But, I suppose I am boring most of you. Let it suffice to say that the books I read were certainly not suitable for a child my age."

'Wow,' Harry thought to himself. 'Oh. My. God.'

"_I became involved in romance stories, and began to wish such a thing would happen to _me _one day._

When the boys came home for the summer, I kept thinking about what it would be like to be _in one of those romances. And who else better for it to be with than my future husband?_"

"Not again," Harry said. He closed his eyes.

"_That summer, I drove myself crazy when I found that Ron had befriended Harry Potter and that he had _asked him to stay_. When Harry did arrive at our house, I wasn't expecting him. I squealed, and ran away._

I had probably the biggest crush imaginable on him that year. I went to Hogwarts, and I was really upset. None of my brothers wanted to be my friend, and most of the other first years didn't like me very much – I don't really know why.

In my school books, I had found a small, black notebook. When I wrote in it, to my surprise, it wrote back.

It was Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort, inside that diary. A memory of his sixteen-year-old self.

He took possession of me. He used me to open the Chamber of Secrets again, to Petrify Muggle-borns. Even Hermione Granger, who I had expected to be stuffy and annoying, was rather nice. I Petrified her. I almost killed her.

Tom took me into the Chamber. He almost killed me.

And Harry Potter saved my life."

Harry shuddered. He didn't like to think about his second year – about seeing Ginny lying lifeless on the cold stone floor, about facing Tom Riddle.

"_I don't think I had ever been so in love with him._

I still had a crush on him my second year, but I hid it better (I hope). I found a friend my age at Hogwarts – Colin Creevey. Though most people considered him a bit annoying, I liked him – he was certainly better than being alone all the time.

I was in my third year when one of the most significant events in wizarding history occurred.

Voldemort came back.

No one will tell me the details – my family still thinks I'm fragile. But, everyone knows that is when he was resurrected – during the Third Task in the Triwizard Championship.

That summer was…wow. That summer was awful. Mum and Dad wouldn't let us kids go out into the gardens for walks anymore. We had escape plans in case Voldemort should come to the house – which he never did, thank God.

Though Harry had stayed with us every other summer since Ron's first year, that summer, Dumbledore insisted that he remain at the Dursleys' for protection. Mum went into fits, and I was worried sick. What if something happened to him?

But nothing did.

We met up with him at the train station, and he was different. More tired, more scared, more…worn. He had grown up.

I suppose, under the circumstances, he had to.

I don't like to think about my fourth year. It was one of the worst of my entire life. But, I will share it, because I need _to talk about it._

When I was in fourth year, I went up to see the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. I had been hearing strange noises outside of my window every night for the past week. I wanted to talk to him about it. He had spent a lot of time at my house that summer, talking to my parents, and I had got to know him pretty well.

But, when I began to speak, he silenced me. 'Perhaps, Ms Weasley,' he said. 'Perhaps we could take a walk around the lake.'

'Alright,' I said, confused. He stood up, and we left Hogwarts.

'Ms Weasley, you have quite a future ahead of you,' he told me, and he smiled. We walked slowly – he told me he had been feeling a little under the weather lately. 'Top marks in fourth year, chance at prefect next year…You can be anything you want to be.'

'Er…thanks,' I said. I was confused. Couldn't he have said this to me in his office?

'Ginny, you…you…you have the power to change the world,' he said, with difficulty.

'Professor? Are you alright? Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?' I asked, nervously.

He waved his hand. 'I'm fine,' he said, quickly. 'But, Ms Weasley, I meant what I said. You can _change the world, and you will. I want you to know that…'_

He stopped in his tracks.

'What's wrong?' I said, worriedly.

'Oh, nothing,' he said. 'Nothing at all.'

I looked at him, worriedly. He seemed to be short of breath, and he looked pale.

He cupped my hands in his. 'Ginny Weasley, you are going to save the wizarding world, and you _are going to defeat Voldemort. Not me, not Harry, not anyone else. You'll have help, but in the end our world's future will be in _your _hands.'_

He started to say something else, but he stopped in mid sentence. His eyes bulged. He started to fall, and I caught him, and struggled to support him.

'Professor? Professor, please wake up!' I half cried as he lay unmoving on the ground. I pulled out my wand quickly. 'Ennervate!' I screamed. Nothing happened. If he was merely sick, this would have woken him up.

And then, Professor McGonagall's voice rang in my head: "Nothing – no spell, no potion, nothing_ – will reawaken the dead." She had told it to our class just that morning._

No. Please, no.

I'm crying as I write this. Albus Dumbledore died that day. I rushed to the Hospital Wing, but it was too late. His heart, which was so big in so many ways, finally gave out.

He was gone."

Harry had to shut the book. He couldn't take too much of this at one time. Dumbledore's death had been…tragic. The whole school was shocked, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike.

He knew what pain Ginny went through – she saw him die. He had seen many people – too many people – die, but never like this. Never by natural causes, only by evil ones.

The war on Voldemort had taken a nosedive when he died. With Dumbledore gone, most people thought that they didn't have a chance anyway, so why bother? Death and destruction were everywhere.

He sighed. He hated to think about those awful years – how he, Ron, and Hermione had practically had to fight the war on their own.

Sometimes, he thought to himself, life just wasn't fair.


	5. A New Day

__

Untitled

By Bekken

Chapter Five

A New Day

*

__

disclaimer: I am not, do not own, and am not affiliated with J.K. Rowling, and all characters referred to from the Harry Potter book series belong to her. Nor do I have any connection to Warner Bros., Scholastic Publishing, Christopher Little Publishing, and various other publishing houses that have copyrighted Harry Potter and characters.

*

author's notes: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update – no, really, I am. But, I have a goal not to let any of my stories sit on the Common Room Floor, so this will _be finished. Soon, I promise. I keep remarking that _Me _is a slim book, but really, it's getting rather long. So, I'm going to try and cut a little shorter. Don't worry. Once Ginny is done with Hogwarts, there isn't too much left._

*

"Harry!" said Jeffrey French, jovially. He walked into Harry's office. Blushing, Harry slid _Me _under his desk.

"Jeff," Harry greeted him, grinning.

Jeff put his hands down on Harry's desk. "Listen, Hare," he said. Inside, Harry bristled. 'Don't call me Hare,' he thought to himself. 

"I'm going to be straight with you," he said. "I need that report on Chad Proctor. _Now. _It was assigned to you two days ago, and we haven't seen it."

Harry blushed to the roots of his hair. "I'm sorry, Jeff, but…"

"It isn't done?" Jeff guessed. "I'll let that pass for now, but I want you to know that if this continues, you are severely in danger of jeopardising your chances of moving up in this job." With a cheeky grin at Harry, he turned, and walked out of the room.

Harry slammed his hand into the desk. Ignoring the pain, he pulled out the file on Chad Proctor.

__

On Monday, the eleventh of November, Chaddius Ottoman Proctor was found enchanting a non human creature (said creature being an elf, in previous times referred to as house-elf) with the Imperius curse to do his work for free. Such magic is not only illegal on humans and_ elves, but…_

Harry couldn't keep writing. He knew he couldn't. He _had _to finish _Me_.

Thumbing for his place, he opened the book.

"_After Dumbledore died, things became awful. People…lost hope, I suppose you could say._

To all of us, Dumbledore had seemed living proof that we could defeat Voldemort. Without him, the war seemed like a lost cause.

So many people gave up. They just willingly submitted. All they tried to do was stay alive.

Those were dark times."

'Well, _that's _an understatement,' Harry thought to himself, sadly. Those were _evil _times, plain and simple.

"_The school tried to continue the teaching with Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress, but the wards Dumbledore had set up around the school were going to pieces, and frequent attacks on the school caused fear among students, parents, and teachers. _

Hogwarts was soon closed down. A small army was built – the Order of the Phoenix. My father and mother were part of that army.

We lived in constant fear that we would be killed. Each morning, everyone dreaded waking up. We took precautions; we tried to stay safe. No longer did my brothers and I run on the fields and play in the creek.

By this time, only Fred, George, Ron, and I were in Hogwarts. Fred and George immediately joined the Order of the Phoenix, but Ron and I were forbidden to; we were "too young". Our parents taught us a little magic here and there – we were now allowed to use magic outside of school. However, our education was cut short.

My brother, Ron, lived in fear for Hermione Granger. She was Muggle-born, and Voldemort was particularly malicious to the Muggle-borns. Harry wasn't allowed to visit us; he was confined to his aunt and uncle's house.

Ron grew quite angry over not being able to see his friends. It seemed like back in the old days, when all we had was each other. Only, back then, nothing else mattered to us, but each other. Now, Ron had his own friends to worry about, and I…didn't.

We spent the days doing nothing but worrying. We awaited owls, quite basically. I began a regular correspondence with both Hermione and Harry, much to Ron's displeasure.

'Find yourself your own friends,' I remember him telling me once.

I never did."

Harry was startled by the arrival of a large, dark brown owl. It had a letter tied to its leg.

"Sage?" Harry asked, stroking the chestnut owl. It nipped his finger affectionately.

Sage was Ginny's owl. He remembered so clearly when Ginny had got him. She had been absolutely intent on getting an owl. Harry had gone with her to the Magical Menagerie, and Ginny had walked immediately towards the back. "This one," she said, picking up Sage, just a baby owl at the time.

"Are you sure?" Harry had asked her. "Maybe you'll want to look around more…"

"No," said Ginny. "This one." She looked at the mahogany owl critically.

"You could call him Dumbledore," Harry said, helpfully. Ginny's face fell at the mention of the Headmaster's name, and Harry regretted saying anything.

"No…" Ginny said softly. "She's a girl."

Harry blushed. "Oh."

"Sage," said Ginny said after a moment. "I'm going to call her Sage."

And nothing could change her mind.

Harry looked at Sage, who had certainly grown from the baby owl they'd taken from the Magical Menagerie that day. He untied the letter from her leg.

__

Dear Harry,

It read.

__

I know that you probably haven't got to my book yet, but…Well, I thought, if you had_, that maybe you might write me back and tell me what you think?_

Love from,

Ginny

Harry read over the note once more, trying to figure out if she _still _thought he ought to be her future husband. He liked the girl, and all, but _marriage_?

__

Dear Ginny,

He hastily scribbled back.

__

Your future HUSBAND?????

-Harry

P.S. Was that a proposal?

Harry grinned, and tied his response onto Sage's leg. She took off out the window, and Harry picked up the book again.

__

"_I had made friends and Hogwarts, of course. I always had a person to visit Hogsmeade with, a person to accompany me to the Yule Ball (but only as a _friend_ – my brothers made sure of that). I always had a girl to giggle with in the middle of the night, and someone to laugh with if something funny happened in class. But I had nothing like what Ron had Harry and Hermione had. I was more alone than they would ever know._"

'Alone?' Harry thought to himself. Ginny had never seemed alone to him. She'd always had friends…right?

As time went by, the Order of the Phoenix became discouraged. It seemed like nothing was being done. Voldemort had taken control of everything by then – shops, the Ministry of Magic, the people.

Everyone knew something had to be done, but no one was brave enough to do anything.

Except for Ron, Harry, and Hermione. They all met up – I still don't know how, and no one will tell me – and formed their own army."

Harry remembered this. They had called their army the Circle of Friends – at Hermione's insistence. She was such a _girl _sometimes.

The day preceding, Ron had owled Harry and Hermione in a fury, saying that Ernie MacMillian had been killed.

He didn't know how, but he had somehow known that all three of them were thinking the same thing at the same time: _Do something_. And they had.

Harry had scribbled a note back to Ron to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd written the same type of note to Hermione.

He'd written a short note to the Dursleys, consisting of mainly nothing, but,

__

"Family",

I am leaving. I may be killed. I know you will not care/worry. I may never come back. Or I might, depending on who wins the war. Goodbye (hopefully forever).

-Harry J. Potter

He had taken off down the street at night, and caught the Knight Bus. After being dropped off at the Leaky Cauldron, he met up with Ron, and the two of them waited for Hermione. She arrived about two hours later, breathless, and with news. They had an "unnamed source" that could potentially feed them a lot of information about Voldemort ("You-Know-WHO!" he remembered Ron screaming).

They had discussed a strategy and a plan that night. Deep down, all of them knew they were probably going to lose the war – it was practically just the three of them fighting.

However, they didn't lose. On one important day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione battled their way into a dark chamber. They had word that their "unnamed source" was being held inside. Only females could pass through, so Harry and Ron were forced to wait, much to their displeasure.

Hermione came back out, hours later, looking worn. She said that Voldemort had been defeated – and the unnamed source would not leave until they did. When they pressed her for how, she just sighed heavily and said nothing.

So, of course, Harry and Ron knew that Hermione herself had done it.

"_They fought tirelessly against Voldemort. And they didn't know that I did too._

At least, Harry and Ron didn't.

I employed myself as a spy. I was quite good at becoming different people, and I did. Many people. I was the girlfriend of Death Eaters, the trusted friend, and posed as a Death Eater myself for awhile. I did all I could to help our cause.

I fed all this information to Hermione, and he fed it to Harry and Ron, and the few others that joined them along the way."

'What?' he thought to himself. 'That simply can't be possible! I can't _believe _she put herself in danger like that! I knew we had an unnamed source – Hermione said that more than once – but…'

He couldn't believe it. She had risked so much by doing all of that.

"_I don't think Harry and Ron ever had a clue._

It was hard work – very hard work. I was in danger of losing my life more than once. I often felt scared and alone, and there was no one I could really talk to, no one I could really trust. The more people that knew about me, the more likely I was to be caught by Voldemort.

I remember one such night – spent huddled in the cold, watching the Death Eaters from behind a bush. Old-fashioned tactics for spying, yes, but effective, nevertheless. I couldn't even begin to tell you how much information I learned creeping behind bushes under an Invisibility Cloak.

(Harry's, if you're interested.)"

'So _that's _where it went,' Harry thought to himself. 'Must get that back.'He turned the page.

"_The night was cold – the sort of cold only England can know. The wind was whipping round my face, and I was afraid it might blow off the Invisibility Cloak – and then what a fine spot I would be in._

As it was, Voldemort and his followers were already suspicious. They spoke in whispers, and no amount of Voice-Raising Charms could let me hear them. Finally, I decided to try a charm not often used nowadays – Grottum Erasium.

It's an ancient spell, but an effective one. I whispered the words, and waved my wand – but one of the Death Eaters heard my whispering. Lucius Malfoy was his name, and he had suspected I was a spy for quite a while.

'Weasley,' he hissed, and never have I felt so scared to hear my own name. He said it with a vengeance, with an anger _that was foreign to me._

The Dark Lord heard him. He ordered a search of the entire premises. I knew – I knew_ – that I was going to die that day._

And I was almost right.

As the Death Eaters walked around, waving their wands over certain areas, I huddled under the Invisibility Cloak, hoping beyond hope that they wouldn't notice me.

But I knew they would. They were performing checks for traces of magic all around the bushes – and I had tried to use countless hearing charms.

I was scared. Plain and simple, I was scared for my life.

I heard the Death Eaters stomping towards me. I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping to block out the pain I was soon to feel. I had heard of what Voldemort did to spies.

I heard a rough, low voice mutter, 'Tracium,' as I huddled there. The magic tracing spells. Within seconds, it would all be over. They would torture me to get all the information they could out of me…and then they would get rid of me.

Yet, to my surprise, I heard the Death Eater…move on_?_

What was he playing at? He must have known I was there…right?

But, I heard them report back to the Dark Lord, and say, 'Nothing there, Master.'

Now, it might have been just a fluke. Maybe that Death Eater performed the spell wrong. Maybe his wand was malfunctioning. Maybe for some reason it just wasn't working.

But I truly believe it was the spirit of Dumbledore, keeping me safe."

Harry smiled. Just like something Dumbledore would do.

"_I couldn't get Dumbledore's prophecy out of my head – that _I _would be the one to end the war. That couldn't be possible, could it? Surely Harry, or someone braver than me…_

No one knows what happened down there. They all think that Hermione Granger ended the war. Hermione and I are the only two that know the real _truth._

We have discussed it at length. And we've decided – it's time to tell the truth to the world. And, perhaps, make the Legend of Hermione Granger the Legend of Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley.

You see, although all the fame has been cast to Hermione for defeating Voldemort – she did not work alone. She is very upset about being given all the credit, let me assure you. And also, I feel like a little bit of an idiot, and a gloater, to share this with you.

But, it is a part of my life.

I defeated Voldemort. I never could have done it without Hermione's help in that cavern – but it was I that cast the actual spell. "

'Is she bloody _serious_?' Harry thought to himself. 'But Hermione…no way. This can't be.'

__

Ginny? Ginny had defeated Voldemort? But hadn't _Hermione_…?

Ginny was their unnamed source…and she had been down in the cavern…Harry muddled over it in his brain. 'But if Ginny was the one to defeat him, why is Hermione getting all the credit?'

Harry came to a startling realisation. 'Because of Ron and I.'

"_Believe me, I don't enjoy sharing this with you. It makes me feel cocky, and annoying. But Hermione forced me. And, as she said, everyone deserves the truth._

A few days before Voldemort's defeat, I was taking a much needed rest. I had got a room at the Leaky Cauldron, and was sleeping when an owl rapping on my window woke me.

It was a letter from Hermione. She said that my help was needed urgently – come immediately to a small alleyway in Diagon Alley.

Of course, I went, honestly believing I would meet Hermione there. To my surprise, it was not the smart, brunette wizard that was waiting for me, but four Death Eaters, who had me bound and gagged in nothing flat.

I was taken to a small cavern, and left there for days. I received no food, no water, no sunlight, no exercise. I believed I would soon die.

Then, to my surprise, Hermione burst through into the cavern. The Death Eaters who were supposed to be guarding me were fast asleep, and Hermione crept toward me, and undid the ropes binding me with a simple spell.

One of the Death Eaters had my wand clutched tightly in his hand. He snored, peacefully, lying his head on the table.

Hermione and I crept towards him slowly. Nervously, I reached out a hand, and tried to gently slide the wand from his hand. In a flash he was up, and though I managed to grab my own wand, he was pointing his at me before you could say, 'You-Know-Who'.

'She's out,' he called to the others. Hermione and I faced him.

Soon, they were all up. They circled us, pointing their wands at us. I felt Hermione nudged me.

And suddenly, somehow, I knew what she was thinking. The Multiple Disarming Spell, Expelliarmae. It would disarm all the Death Eaters at once.

They were standing around us, trying to figure out the best way to get our wands, when we both shouted, 'Expelliarmae!' We were soon the proud owners of five Death Eater's wands.

Within seconds, we had them bound and gagged. We were going to leave, when we heard a horrible scream of anger behind us. We turned around…and there was Voldemort.

He was tall, and strong. He scared me, really. But I'd never admit it.

He gave a cold, evil-blooded laugh, and before we had time to react, he'd disarmed us. He threw our wands casually behind his shoulders. He did not free his Death Eaters, his loyal supporters, from their chains. Instead, he looked at us.

'How nice of you to join us, Granger,' he said. 'Weasley. I hope you find our small home pleasurable.'

'Very,' Hermione spat out. I seemed to have lost my voice for a second.

'You do realise, of course,' he said, slowly. 'That you are both about to…die.'

He gave us an evil grin. He pointed his wand at us, and said, 'Avada-'

Before I knew what I was doing, I shouted, 'Accio wand!'

And, to my surprise, my wand came to me. I learned later that I am capable of the simplest wandless magic. Nothing complex.

I pointed my wand at Voldemort. 'Not so cocky now, eh?' I asked.

He looked at me and laughed. 'As if a fifteen year old could stop me_!' he said, cruelly. 'I have powers you have never dreamed of, girl!'_

And then, from out of my mouth, came an incantation I'd never heard before. 'Calleum dracem alorum deficia,' I chanted. 'Asaim peda groshum couera.'

Hermione began to chant along with me. A beam of golden light issued from my wand, and soon, Hermione's palm sent out a beam as well. The two beams merged, and engulfed Voldemort in their light.

We chanted softer and softer, until the beams faded. Hermione was looking down at her palm in awe. But I was looking at Voldemort.

He was a shrivelled thing – little, and weak. Wrinkles covered his skin.

He glared at us. I could see fear in his eyes. But I could also see other things. Anger. Hate. Hostility.

That charm, to this day, does not work when I perform it. I do not know where it came from – I've never seen it in any book. I certainly didn't make it up myself.

I believe that Dumbledore was feeding me those words, and he was working through me.

And, thinking this, I pointed my wand at Voldemort. 'Forisum disaperaum,' I said. And, with a beam of green light, he disappeared. The non-existence curse. He ceased to exist. So that he could not come back. Even as a ghost.

Hermione looked at me. And then she hugged me. And we began to laugh, and dance for joy.

After a little while, Hermione said, 'Ron and Harry will be worried.'

I became nervous. 'Hermione they can't _know – about me, I mean. Could you just…just tell them _you _defeated Voldemort or something?'_

'I'll think of something,' Hermione assured me. And she did.

__

To conclude on the war, I will say that all of us worked tirelessly, and in the end, Voldemort was defeated. And that had been the goal all along.

Voldemort was gone.

You can't imagine the rejoicing. Parties, balls, the world began to turn again. Everywhere, there was a smile on people's faces.

There were festivals; people rejoiced. The world was at its best. My brother Ron proposed to Hermione, and she accepted – and they set a date two years away to the day. June 21."

Harry remembered.

Ron and Hermione had met him at a restaurant in Diagon Alley. They'd announced to him that they were getting married.

"MARRIED?" Harry remembered asking. "You're bloody sixteen!"

"In a couple of years, Harry," Hermione had said, laughing.

"Oh. Right then," he said. He smiled. "Congratulations," he said.

And it was then that he began to feel a little wistful for his _own _love interest.

__

"_Hogwarts reopened, with Professor McGonagall as Headmistress, the first Headmistress _ever _of Hogwarts. All of us who were fifth year and below when Hogwarts closed were sent back, other students were allowed to learn on their own._

There was a flood of first years, as during the war none could be admitted. We older ones always walked around complaining about how "kids" were taking over the school.

For most of us, the war had changed our perspective on life. We studied harder, played harder, and treasured every moment we had. We appreciated life. We had learned to.

During that year, I began to date Harry Potter. That relationship was…a mess if there ever was one. Filled with tears, angry older brothers, and broken glass. Needless to say, it did not work out.

We broke up shortly afterward, and remained friends.

I was quite the mischievous one back in Hogwarts, and after Harry broke up with me, I liked to play a few pranks on him here and there."

'_I _broke up with _her_?' Harry thought to himself. '_She _broke up with _me_!'

"_It was just little things – putting pepper into his pumpkin juice, transfiguring his robes into dresses. Nothing _harmful_._

One day I was sneaking around in the boys' dorm, trying to open Harry's trunk so that I could get at his boxers and turn them pink. (Juvenile, I know). It was the day before the last day of Harry's sixth year. He was ready to leave school, and would, like Ron and Hermione, not be returning the next year.

I was grumbling about his trunk when I heard a sharp rapping on the door. Ron was asleep in his bed, and awoke at this. I groaned and threw myself under Harry's bed.

A sleepy Ron went and opened the door. Professor McGonagall stood there, a stern look on her face. "Ronald Weasley!" she exclaimed, sternly. She glared at him. "Which of you sixth year boys are responsible for enchanting the Slytherins' robes to say, 'I love Gryffindor sixth years!'?"

Ron yawned. "Dunno," he muttered.

"And who's that under there?" she asked, looking at me. "Come out at once."

Blushing, I left my hiding spot. Professor McGonagall looked shocked. So did Ron.

"Miss Weasley?" she asked, as if she could barely believe it.

I squirmed. "Er…er…"

She looked at me. "Miss Weasley, do you realise being in a dormitory of the opposite sex is punishable by expulsion?"

My heart stopped, and l forgot to breathe.

Ron looked from me to Professor McGonagall and blurted out hurriedly, "It's my fault she's here, Professor."

She turned on him. "Excuse me?"

"I…er…asked her to come," he said, quickly. I looked at him in disbelief.

"And why would you do that?" asked the professor, her hands on her hips.

"I…I…I wanted to set her up with Harry again," he fibbed turning red.

I don't think he could have come up with a worse excuse. He hated _the idea of Harry and I together._

"Please don't punish her, Professor," he pleaded. "Expel me."

I was so touched. It was like when we were children, and Ron would take the blame. I almost cried.

"Don't expel him!" I cried. "It's my fault; leave him out of it!"

Ron gave me a look_. "Don't listen to her, Professor," he said. "She's obviously delusional."_

A hint of a smile played across Professor McGonagall's lips. "I have sufficient evidence to expel both _of you right now," she told us._

Ron turned white as a sheet, and I'm sure I must have as well.

"But I'm not going to," she continued. I let out a sigh of relief. "However," she added, "Mr. Weasley, you will not be completing school this year, and will instead stay on for your seventh year. You and Miss Weasley will be responsible for helping to clean the Great Hall every Sunday – without_ magic."_

I groaned. It was better than being expelled, but without magic_??_

I'll never forget what Ron did for me. He'd rather be expelled, and lose all rights to practice magic, than to see me expelled.

I knew there was a reason I loved him.

Most of us (including myself) were granted early completion of school, finishing in our sixth year. I left school top student in my class, much to my surprise, and things seemed almost wonderful.

The school, however, would never be the same without our headmaster. Nothing _could ever be the same without Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall tried hard, and she meant well, but all of us knew she could never fill his shoes._

He was a great man.

There were many deaths during the war against Voldemort. Many people I thought of as friends became enemies, and many of those I loved died for the cause.

One of my good friends, and the Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid, said to me that maybe we shouldn't concentrate on the people who died – we should concentrate on what they died for.

Hagrid died in battle with Death Eaters. He was tortured beyond his very limits.

I mourn for him, but I will never forget what he died for. He died so that we_, all of us, could have a life free from fear, free from rejection, free from worry. He died because he wanted our lives to be happier._

Sometimes, I think about all the people who died. I sob myself to sleep some nights, when I cannot think of anything but watching their mangled bodies tortured more (and I did).

And some days, I just fall into one of my brothers' arms and cry for Dumbledore, for Hagrid, for Ernie MacMillian and Hannah Abbot, for Parvati Patil, and Severus Snape, for Neville Longbottom. I cry for everyone.

But I wake up in the morning, and it is a new day.

We can't stop time with our grief. Life goes on. The only choice we have is to keep living, to keep doing what they _would have wanted us to do. To keep fighting for their cause._

Perhaps this is why I became an Auror. Perhaps this is why I spend my days chasing remaining Death Eaters and combating Dark forces. I want these people to have died with cause_. I want them to have a reason to have died. I want to be able to give them that reason._

To look at it from one perspective, I want to justify their deaths.

I know that I am lucky. Not everyone's family survived. I still have my mother and father, and Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and Ron. I still have Hermione, and I still have Harry. I made out luckier than a lot of people.

But, still, I sometimes wonder if the well of sadness inside of me will ever be healed.

I wake up every morning, and tell myself, "Ginny, today is a new day. The slate is clean."

The slate is clean today. Today is a new day. And today, I am me."

Underneath those words, in small print, the book read,

"_T H E E N D_"

Harry was almost…he was almost sorry it was over. He flipped back a few pages, and then forward some. Then he noticed another few pages of text, at the very end, after a few blank pages.

He began to read.


	6. In Which the Reader Finally Understands ...

__

Untitled

By Bekken

Chapter Six

In Which the Reader Finally Understands the Story Title

*

__

disclaimer: I am not, do not own, and am not affiliated with J.K. Rowling, and all characters referred to from the Harry Potter book series belong to her. Nor do I have any connection to Warner Bros., Scholastic Publishing, Christopher Little Publishing, and various other publishing houses that have copyrighted Harry Potter and characters.

*

At the centre of the page, in large, bold lettering, it read,

"**AFTERWORD**"

Interested, he turned the page.

"_Well, that's it. The end of the book. It's over._

I'm almost…I'm almost sad _over it. It may have been painful, and absolutely _awful _to write, but I'm going to miss it. It was sort of…sort of nice being able to write down my memoirs._

And now I suppose that all of you reading are probably wondering 'Why is she journaling _in this book?'_

Well. I do have a point. I swear.

When I began this book, I was fresh meat, as it's referred to in the publishing world. A young, unpublished author with high goals, and lots of ideas. I was ready for anything!

What I didn't count on was how emotionally draining the book could be. I'd write a bit, cross it out, rewrite it, cross that _out, and then write the same thing I'd written in the first place. It hurt to relive some of those memories. Sometimes, I'd get so frustrated that I would _scream_._

And then, once the book was finally written_, taking it to people close to me and asking them to read it. Having to bear with their critiques. And _then _having an editor – Justin Finch-Fletchey is one of the best in the market, don't get me wrong. But it is _hard _to see your manuscript – what you've worked for weeks and months on – taken and scrutinised. 'This scene isn't needed.' 'Do you _need _to say that?' 'This needs expanding.' 'This paragraph is worded horribly.'_

When I received my manuscript back, covered in red marks and slashes, I felt only what 'fresh meat' could feel. Instead of feeling immensely pleased that my book had even been accepted for publishing, I was indignant_. To a new author, her book is her baby. I couldn't bear to take out scenes from it, or change absolutely anything. It took a lot of Justin's coaxing to convince me to do so._

But, finally it was done, and sent to be bound – or will be, I suppose, once I finish writing this.

I did something foolish. (Surprise, surprise.) I titled this before writing this. One of the biggest mistakes to make in the writing world. I honestly believed that the title would work for it.

In fact, I hadn't even thought of changing it before I sat down to write this. Now, I suppose, it's too late to. This book is Me _and forever shall be._

When I began to write it, I really believed that the book would illustrate me_. My thoughts, my morals, my ideas, my _life_. I really believed that _I _could become the book._

Boy, was I wrong.

Sure, this book has parts of me. Tells parts of me, rather. But I am a work in progress. I change every day. I am not set in stone, as a book is. I am unlabeled, unfinished. I am different all the time. No book can be me_. _Nothing _can be me but _me_. _

I am untitled.

T H E ( R E A L ) E N D"

Harry shut the evergreen volume, and was about to (finally) set to work, when he got the urge to open it again.

Flipping through the pages again, he noticed a hand written note on one of the blank pages in the back.

"_Dear Harry,_

It's Ginny writing to you now, and I suppose if you're reading this now, you've finished the book. I'm blushing now, if you couldn't tell.

Did you like it? OWL ME. I really want to know. Your opinion means a lot to me, Harry, if you didn't know already.

This book was hard for me to write. And I'm sure at some points it was hard for you to read. Please don't get turned off by the 'Future Husband' things. I don't want to lose your friendship. If you believe that wasn't how it was meant to be, fine. Don't let it spoil our friendship, Harry.

I value our friendship. I know that you were busy while I was writing this book, and I may be taking away time when you actually could _be doing work while you read this. I'm sorry for that._

Harry, I was thinking the other day about our relationship. What are we, exactly? Whatever we are (I don't really know if there is a word for it) I would like for it to be more.

Please excuse my boldness, Harry, but as I was writing this, I thought a lot about you. And I thought that maybe…just maybe we could make this work. Since…well, we're older now. I'm certainly not as emotional as I was in Hogwarts. And I am more mature.

So, if you are…possibly…maybe…a little tiny bit interested, then I guess owl me. If not, forget I ever wrote this.

I really hope you liked this book, Harry. And the dedication – I did write it for you. Please don't be angry.

Love from,

Virginia F. Weasley"

For the second time in his life, Harry was struck speechless by Ginny Weasley.

Ginny Weasley…_Ginny _Weasley…

Well, he had to admit, the book made him see her in a different light.

But still…_Ginny Weasley_?

Harry closed the evergreen volume in front of him. Then he opened it again to her note, and reread it. He closed it, then opened it again.

He looked from the open book in front of him, to the picture of Ginny and himself, in his sixth year, at one of the few high points in their relationship. He and Ginny were out by the lake. Ginny was lying on her back, with her head in his lap, and he was tickling her. Both of them were laughing.

He looked from the picture to the book, and back again, and he was filled with _rage_.

As if he needed more rumours flying around about himself! At this rate, people would be owling him to see if he and Ginny had been married already!

"Future husband," he muttered. "Where does she get off?"

He felt anger burning through to the very tips of his fingers. He pounded his fist into the desk and let out a rage filled scream.

Hastily, and without taking any time at all to think about it, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill to write a letter to Ginny, not choosing his words very carefully.

"_VIRGINIA WEASLEY!_

What was that? That – that BOOK? Who do you think you are, God? Future husband, my foot. We've been on what – three dates in the past six months? And those were parties!

What were you – what could you possibly have been – what is WRONG with you?

I can't believe you. I can't bloody BELIEVE that you would write something like that and publish it for all the world to see! ARGH!

And you were a SPY? You never TOLD me! What happened to our "no secrets if we want to be friends" deal after sixth year? Oh well, OBVIOUSLY, you don't care about that sort of thing Ms. _Weasley._

I am very angry now, and I don't know when I'll get over it. So DON'T owl me. I don't want to talk to you.

Harry Potter"

He folded the letter, and tied it quickly to Hedwig's leg. Only after she had flown far off into the sky, and become barely a dot in the distance did he realise the magnitude of what he had done.

"Bloody _hell_," he whispered. He hurriedly put on his coat and pulled out his wand, set to Apparate on the spot, when he saw Jeffrey French enter the room, a snide smile on his face.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"Er…I…" Harry stumbled. 

"I would hope you aren't," Jeff said, in a rather patronising manner. "Because, you know, coupled with the way you've been neglecting your work lately, I'm sure that leaving in the middle of the day would warrant _severe _action." His smile got wider. "Such as, perhaps, suspension from the job for at least a while."

Harry's eyes widened at the man. "You wouldn't-"

Jeffrey put his hands on Harry's desk. "Listen, Hare," he said. "I don't _like _to do this kind of thing."

Harry noticed that the smile on his face indicated quite the opposite.

"But we need people to work at this firm. We have a company to run. And if you can't comply with that-" Jeff shrugged his shoulder, a smirk on his face. "-we'll just have to let you go."

He left, leaving Harry in his office. He let out a scream, then sat down again at his desk, and began to write something else.

"_Dear Ginny,_

About that letter I sent you-

Dear Ginny,

I'm sorry for what I-

Ginny,

Forgive me for-

Hi, Ginny!

You wouldn't happened to have taken that letter personally, would-"

Harry sighed. He couldn't do this.

He let out a string of curse words. _'They won't fire me,'_ he reassured himself as he picked up his wand again.

Within seconds, he was outside Ginny's door. Instead of going straight in, he watched her for a little while through the window. Though her face was red, and tear-stained, she wasn't crying any longer. He watched her conjure up a cup of hot chocolate or coffee (he couldn't figure out which) and pick up a piece of parchment that he recognised to be the letter he had sent her ages ago – the joke letter about being her future husband, and was that a proposal?

She traced the words with her finger, and smiled a little.

Harry couldn't help thinking how nice she looked. And without another thought, he rang her doorbell.

"I'm sorry."

__

Come join us in our Circle of Friends,

There's always room for one more,

A circle that never ends,

All you do is open up the door.

Have you ever been left out?

Have you felt alone?

Have you ever needed

A friend to call your own?

There is someone out there,

Who's feeling just like you.

Open up your circle.

That's all you've got to do

-- Courtesy of my fifth grade music teacher.

F I N

__

author's notes: Wow. My very first series, over and done with. Wow. That seems to be pretty much all I can say.

Okay, to begin with, I don't know how many time I can say this, but THANK YOU, AMY! If I haven't told you what a great beta you are recently – well, now I have. Your helpful comments and suggestions while I've been writing this have been invaluable, and I don't quite know how to thank you for that.

Secondly, thanks to ALL of my reviewers. You really did keep me writing. And thank you, even to the people who have read but not reviewed. You must be crazy to have slogged all the way through this! (Just kidding!) Thank you for sticking with me.

Thank you to the Queens, for making this amazing, un-bloody-believable site so that I can read, write, and post fan fiction. And thank you to EVERYONE who's ever written in the Tower Library – because your fics have at one point or another, all given me inspiration.

And last, but DEFINITELY not least, thank you J.K. Rowling for providing us with this wonderful world in which we can immerse ourselves in and without which, GT would cease to exist.


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